I sigh. But if you’d talked to Jules—if she could hear you . . . My voice trails off.Then you wouldn’t feel quite so crazy? Oliver asks gently. Can’t you believe in me, if I believe in you?
[Jules] slides into a seat beside me with her hot lunch tray, sighing. Four hours, thirty-six minutes, and twelve seconds till we’re out of purgatory for the weekend.Maybe later, I murmur, still distr...